


Valentine's Matchmaking Service

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Disorder, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Romance, Breaking and Entering, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Modern Era, Panic Attacks, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: Reclusive best-selling YA author Bernadetta von Varley lives alone, and that has always suited her just fine. But when a break-in shatters her sense of safety, Bernadetta turns to top security firm Valentine's Matchmaking Service for help.And send help, they do. In the form of one tall, blonde, and buff Raphael Kirsten.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Bernadetta von Varley, Raphael Kirsten/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Meet Cute

Bernadetta wakes to the sound of shattering glass. Shaken from a dream, she jolts up in bed, gray eyes surveying the room with bleary confusion. Her large bedroom is dark, but she can tell that nothing looks out of place. Snuggling the comforter to her chest, she considers going back to sleep when she hears it.

  
The crack of glass underfoot. 

  
Her head turns to the bedroom door, blood freezing in her veins. 

  
For a long moment, she prays that her mind is playing tricks on her, but the unmistakable new sound of rummaging makes it to her ears. Someone is downstairs, going through her belongings. She scrambles out of bed, a queen-sized thing too spacious for a single person, and yanks her phone from its charging cable. Clutching the phone to her chest like a lifeline, she keeps her eyes on the bedroom door as she backs toward the bathroom connected to her bedroom. 

  
For a brief, frenzied second, Bernadetta considers opening her window and climbing out. That half-formed hope does not last long; it takes no time to remember her condo sits on the top floor of a five-floor building. She backs into the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as she can. The damn thing squeaks on its hinges. The sound, blasting through the quiet of her house, tips Bernadetta into a full-blown panic. She can barely turn the flimsy lock on the door before her hands begin to tremble. She sinks to the floor, the phone still clutched in her sweaty palms. She tries to recall her breathing exercises, all while a tiny, frightened voice in the back of her head screams at her to call someone for help. 

  
Tears blur her vision. Her fingers numbly scroll through her contacts. A finger lingers over the entry for her father, a man she has not spoken to in years, not since she'd been disowned. Bernadetta begins to a feel it: numbness in her extremities, a sign that her panic attack is worsening. She cannot call him. 

  
Feeling desperately alone, Bernadetta presses the call button on her phone for someone she knows will pick up.

  
It rings three times before a groggy voice answers it. 

  
"Bern, darling, is everything okay?" 

  
Bernadetta struggles to say something, but she can only seem to muster tears and ragged breathing. 

  
The voice sharpens with sudden concern. "Bern? What's wrong? Talk to me. Are you okay?"

  
"Help," she croaks out finally. "Help, Dorothea..."

* * *

  
Bernadetta clutches her bag to her stomach protectively, so hard she can feel the contents within pressing into her abdomen. The taxi rolls to a stop in front of a nondescript building, sandwiched between other nondescript buildings. The driver turns to Bernadetta, giving her an expectant look when she does not move from her seat. 

  
"Ma'am," they begin, "we're here."

  
Bernadetta swallows thickly, nodding more to herself than to the driver. She produces a wad of bills and drops it into the driver's hands. "Keep the change," she says, barely a whisper over the noise of the street traffic. Bernadetta slowly opens the door, peering down the sidewalks through her large sunglasses. Taking a deep breath, she jumps out of the car and hurries to the entrance of the building.

  
Bernadetta takes the main elevator to the top floor, which opens to a bright and richly furnished lobby. The receptionist at the front desk smiles at her in welcome. Bernadetta signs the initial paperwork, a part of which involves a nondisclosure agreement over the people she may see here. As soon as she is finished, she settles into a large, plush chair. Her legs bounce nervously as she waits. At last, a tall blond man exits the room behind the receptionist. He gives the receptionist a wave goodbye before a pair of expensive sunglasses slip over his prodigiously gorgeous blue eyes. Bernadetta briefly wonders if she should recognize him.

  
"Bernadetta, she's ready for you now."

  
Bernadetta gets to her feet, tugging at the hem of the cable-knit sweater she wishes was big enough to swallow her whole. The receptionist walks her over to the door and opens it, shutting it quietly behind Bernadetta as soon as she clears the entryway.

  
At first, Bernadetta is rendered speechless by the view. A floor-to-ceiling window acts as the office's back wall, giving her an impressive and unimpeded view of the city below. "Wow..."

  
"Like the view?" says a cheerful voice.

  
Bernadetta starts, catching the gaze of the only other occupant in the room. Her jaw slowly hinges shut in embarrassment. Dwarfed behind an enormous oaken desk sits a woman about her own age and build. As if in direct opposition to Bernadetta's frumpiness, she exudes nothing but confidence and poise. Her hair is a bright pop of pink, and her facial features are nicely framed by makeup.

  
She follows Bernadetta's eyes to the cumbersome-looking desk before her. "Oh, this old thing? I asked my husband to buy me a desk when I started this business, and he thought this looked 'sturdy.'" She chuckles fondly, smoothing a hand over it. "Couldn't bring myself to throw it out even though it doesn't match the rest of the furniture here."

  
She slowly rises to her feet, and extends a hand out. To Bernadetta's surprise, the woman is also very pregnant. "I'm Hilda, the owner of Valentine's Matchmaking Service. It's nice to meet you, Bernadetta."

  
Bernadetta shakes Hilda's hand, and they both settle back into their chairs. "Um, my friend Dorothea..."

  
"Of course," begins Hilda industriously, "Dorothea gave me a heads-up that she would be referring you and insisted I put you on the top of my client list."

  
Bernadetta flushes. "O-oh, I had no idea..." 

  
Hilda's expression softens. "She seemed very worried about you. I take it you two are old friends?"

  
"College," Bernadetta supplies. "We were college roommates."

  
"Oh, how lucky!" Hilda says. "Do you get to go backstage at all her concerts?"

  
Bernadetta fiddles with the hem of her sweater nervously. Although she is frequently invited to parties and concerts, Bernadetta has never taken up her best friend Dorothea on any of that extravagance. "Ah, no," she says.

  
"Oh, that's too bad," replies Hilda. "Well, onto business! I see you're in the market for bodyguards."

  
"Just one," she clarifies. Dorothea insisted she hire more, but Bernadetta knows her own limit with strangers, and it's usually maxed out at one person.

  
A crease of concern appears on Hilda's forehead. "Are you sure?" 

  
Bernadetta wonders how much she knows from speaking with Dorothea. "Is that not possible?"

  
"No, not at all! We can totally do that." Hilda shuffles through some paperwork and pulls out an electronic tablet. "When Dorothea first started out with us years back, she only hired one of ours to begin with too. Although, back then, she was just a small-time singer. I just thought that someone like yourself would want a little more around-the-clock protection."

  
"Someone like me?" Bernadetta echoes, fingers curling in her lap. _A helpless recluse who lives alone and can't even defend herself from a simple break-in..._

  
Hilda cocks her head. "Yes. You know, super famous?"

  
"Oh. Right." 

  
Several years ago, she was nothing more than a simple college student toiling over the latest novel, worried that it would never see the light of day. She was a nobody living off instant noodles, with barely any change left in her bank account. Through a miraculous stroke of luck, her novel caught the eye of someone high up the chain at Blue Lion Publishing, known as the powerhouse of the publishing world. In almost no time at all, she became Blue Lion Publishing's new literary darling. Her books were featured in every bookstore. In what felt like the blink of an eye, she'd earned millions in royalties, and even landed a much-coveted movie deal. 

  
Most days, Bernadetta still can't believe she is a bona fide multi-millionaire.

  
"Any preferences on your match?" 

  
"Oh. Um...nice?"

  
"Nice what?"

  
"Just nice, please."

  
Hilda smiles warmly at her. "That, I can do." She slides a stack of papers across the desk to her. "Please look these over. Now, we'll need to go over your usual schedule and get in contact with your building's security to coordinate and also to gain clearance."

  
Over the course of their meeting, Hilda patiently answers all of Bernadetta's questions, and thankfully goes over the confusing legal jargon in vivid detail.

  
After an hour or so, with the logistics ironed out and the documents all but finalized, Bernadetta signs her name on the dotted line.

* * *

  
Bernadetta sighs as she takes a bite of freshly baked blueberry muffin. The pastry is still warm, pulled from her oven only minutes ago. She opens her mouth for another bite when the phone in her pocket begins to buzz. A small pool of dread fills the bottom of her belly until she realizes it's only Dorothea. Relieved, Bernadetta accepts the video call. 

  
Dorothea appears on the screen, in what appears to be a makeup trailer. Behind her, a stylist is curling her coffee-colored hair into waves. "Bern, darling, how'd it go?" 

  
"Where are you this time?" Bernadetta asks.

  
"Fhirdiad this week for a benefit concert. I wish you were here!"

  
"You say that every time," Bernadetta protests, lifting the blueberry muffin to her mouth. 

  
"I say it because I do wish you were here," Dorothea replies, green eyes suddenly going wide. "You're making blueberry muffins without me! Bern, how could you?"

  
"You're halfway across the country," Bernadetta splutters, feeling guilty enough to hide the muffin out of view.

  
Dorothea's lips quirk up. "Just kidding, darling. Although, I really do miss your baking. You're the best baker in the world."

  
"No, I'm not," Bernadetta says, blushing. "You're just saying that."

  
"Yes, you are." Dorothea suddenly turns around, speaking with her stylist out of earshot. The stylist nods and leaves the trailer. Dorothea's expressive face becomes lined with worry. "Bern, you know why I called. Did you go like I asked?"

  
Bernadetta nods, her good mood muted. "Don't worry, Dorothea. I went."

  
Dorothea breathes a sigh of relief. "Good, I'm...I'm really glad you did. Hilda only hires the best in the business, so you'll be safe. And you're still sure you don't want to move in with me for a little while?"

  
"Yeah, I'm sure. I...want to be home, you know? I have that draft I need to finish and I don't want some minor inconvenience--"

  
"It's not minor! Someone broke into your house and got away with all your valuables!" Dorothea retorts. "When you called, I..." Dorothea shakes her head, but refrains from mentioning Bernadetta's panic attack.

  
"I know," she says softly.

  
"When do they start?" 

  
"Tonight."

  
Dorothea's voice softens. "Are you going to be okay, darling?"

  
Bernadetta forces herself to nod, even though the thought of welcoming an absolute stranger into her home _on purpose_ is giving her all kinds of anxiety. "Yes, I...I know it's the right thing to do, even though it won't be comfortable."

  
"You'll get used to it, I swear," Dorothea says, trying to lighten the mood. "It's a little strange at first, but they're just looking out for you so you can focus on your own stuff. If you don't like them, you can always talk to Hilda and she'll set you up with someone else just like that!" Dorothea snaps her fingers with a wink. 

  
Bernadetta doesn't feel any better, although she tries to pretend like she does for her best friend's sake. "What if..." A million what-ifs bubble to her lips, but she swallows them down.

  
Suddenly, a voice off-screen calls Dorothea's name, causing her to look over her shoulder. When she turns back toward the screen, she cracks into an apologetic smile. "Have to go, Bern. I'll text you later!"

  
Bernadetta manages a helpless "bye" before the line goes dead. 

* * *

  
Bernadetta spends the rest of the afternoon cleaning her condo. She finds channeling her nervous energy into mundane and mindless tasks like mopping the floors and decluttering the kitchen helps to alleviate her anxiety. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Bernadetta bemoans the sheer size of her condo, with its two levels and array of bedrooms and bathrooms to organize. Bernadetta takes a break for a drink of water when her eyes catch on the clock hanging on the wall. She nearly chokes and water dribbles out of her mouth and onto her top. 

  
The bodyguard will be here at any moment.

  
Bernadetta makes a beeline for her bedroom, racing up the stairs two at a time for a quick change of clothes. She wrangles the spit-soaked top off her and runs into her walk-in closet, frantically searching for something presentable. The front door bell goes off downstairs. 

  
_Just put something on, Bernie! Anything!_

  
She tears a hoodie off its hanger and pulls it over her head just as the bell goes off again. She races back down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the fancy home intercom system installed next to her door. A high-resolution image of someone too tall and close to the camera fills the screen. Bernadetta's stomach begins to knot with dread. 

  
"Hello?" she hears through the intercom.

  
"Um," Bernadetta hastily presses a button on the intercom that allows people on the outside to hear her, "one second please!" She has had precious little opportunity to practice using the intercom device to unlock the door. She can count on one hand the number of guests she's had inside since she moved in.

  
When she finally gets the door to open, she begins with a rapid-fire apology. "S-sorry, I--" She immediately stumbles over the rest of her words as soon as she takes in her new bodyguard. 

  
At first, her eyes land on their shoes. She finds, when meeting new people, it tends to be easier to start with their feet before looking directly into their face. While the shoes are nothing special, the thighs most definitely are. Thick and muscular, they easily stretch the pant seams, as if the person wearing them couldn't be bothered finding a pair that could be loose enough to leave anything to the imagination. The navy-blue security jacket hangs a bit short on their tall and broad frame, unzipped. Beneath it, a starched white button-down clings to a brawny chest and narrows handsomely along the hips. Bernadetta swallows a lump in her throat and finally meets their eyes. Piercing golden eyes meet her with a smile. 

  
"Hi, I'm Raphael Kirsten, your new security detail."


	2. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an accidental dinner date.

When the door swings open, Raphael is greeted by the sight of a very petite and pale young woman in a Garreg Mach University hoodie. Her hair, the color of lavender flowers, is pinned back into a lopsided and messy bun. Stray locks cling to her eyelashes and parted lips, giving her a slightly disheveled appearance though she is rendered no less attractive for it. Her large gray eyes immediately flick down to his shoes before they take in the rest of him.

  
Raphael is used to being sized up by his clients when first meet him. He smiles at her, unfazed, and introduces himself. 

  
"I'm Bernadetta," she replies, voice pitched higher and much softer than he expected. "Uh, c-come in." 

  
She opens the door wider for him, but seems to misjudge his size because he suspects he'll crush her against the door frame trying to get past her. "After you," he insists.

  
She shuffles back, hovering nervously beside a plush sectional couch that looks brand new. By this point in his career, Raphael knows better than to ogle the furniture or fancy appliances. Bernadetta's condo is quaint, by celebrity standards. 

  
Raphael straightens up to his full height, hoping to exude competence and professionalism. He's no stranger to celebrities with high standards, and wants to give off a good first impression. His job at Valentine's is the only thing keeping a roof over his head and his sister in college.

  
"So, where do you want me?" he begins.

  
"W-want you?" she squeaks, eyes going comically wide.

  
Raphael wonders, briefly, what she's famous for. She seems oddly timid for someone with celebrity status.

  
"Yeah, where should I post up?" he clarifies helpfully.

  
"Oh," she seems to breath a sigh of a relief, "so that's what you...right. Of course." She glances about the first floor, and gingerly gestures to a vague location next the couch.

  
He nods, not expecting any more direction given what he's inferred about her personality. Raphael deposits his equipment next to the shoe stand by the door, then crosses the room and posts himself up next to her.

  
Raphael hears Bernadetta's breath freeze in her lungs. She quickly scoots sideways until an arm's length separates them. It's only then that she seems to relax enough to let out a breath. When he meets her eyes, her cheeks redden. "I'm not used to having people over," she says suddenly, flinching as if he's about to berate her for her own behavior, in her own house.

  
"That's okay," he replies. "Thank you for trusting me to be here." 

  
Bernadetta's face breaks into a tremulous smile. 

* * *

  
Bernadetta peers over the edge of her laptop, studying her new bodyguard again after introductions. Raphael is a giant of a man, tall and broad like a professional rugby player. He looks like he could break her coffee table in half with his bare hands. When he notices her watching, his serious expression is instantly replaced by a bright smile. She ducks behind the frame of the laptop, mortified at having been caught staring. 

  
She glues her eyes back to the computer screen, trying to focus on her current email before she takes a break for dinner.

  
_Ingrid will have my head if I don't finish this next chapter soon._ Bernadetta chews on her bottom lip, typing up yet another mealy-mouthed request for an extension. She sucks in a breath before hitting the 'send' button. She shoves the laptop away from her, as if physically distancing it from herself will keep Ingrid from being able to reply. 

  
She scurries into the kitchen, where her homemade lasagna sits ready to eat. Bernadetta cuts herself a generous helping, her mouth watering at the smell of cheese and tomato sauce. She catches Raphael's gaze out of the corner of her eye and feels a pang of guilt. She knows he's not allowed to eat while on duty, but it feels really cruel to stuff her face right in front of him. 

  
_Especially with a body like that, I'm sure he really needs the calories._

  
"Do...do you want to eat some with me?" she asks, her voice so whisper-quiet that it's a miracle he seems to notice her speaking. 

  
He seems to startle out of his bodyguard-mode, eyeing the plate of lasagna in her hands with barely-contained longing. "I...shouldn't," he manages, as if each word costs him dearly. 

  
Bernadetta remembers what it feels like to work while absolutely ravenous. She used to work part-time jobs back to back in college, just to make rent. Bernadetta sets down a plate for him, next to hers. "It's too much for me to finish alone. You'd be doing me a favor, really," she musters, hoping to sound convincing. 

  
It turns out that Raphael needs very little convincing when it comes to food. 

* * *

  
Bernadetta wakes the next day to the feeling that she's baking beneath her blankets like an apple pie. Without bothering to open her eyes, she kicks her cactus-patterned comforter to the floor, hoping to bring some relief to her sweat-soaked legs. The room feels uncommonly warm for six in the morning.

  
With a jolt, she sits up, blinking the heavy dust of sleep from her eyes. _Wait, I slept! I really slept!_

  
A smile bubbles to her lips. Bernadetta flops back into her pillows, reveling in the fact that she is, for the first time in days, well-rested. Her head no longer throbs with sleep deprivation.

  
Bernadetta takes a look at her night stand and yelps when she realizes it is past noon. She jumps out of bed, nearly twisting her ankle on a length of blanket that clings to it. When she finally shakes it off, she yanks open the bedroom door. When she pokes her head out into the hallway, she half-hopes to see Raphael posted there, like he was the night before.

  
But the hallway is empty.

  
_I overslept. Of course he's not here anymore. His shift ends at six in the morning._

  
Even bodyguards need sleep, after all. She can't have him here at all hours of the day. Keeping an eye on things when the sun goes down and until the sun comes up is good enough for her. 

  
Bernadetta pads down the staircase in her pajamas, searching for signs of Raphael in the house. There doesn't appear to be a hair out of place. It feels oddly empty without him. She could have simply imagined him, if not for the small sticky note she finds on stuck to her kitchen counter.

  
_'Hi, Bernadetta. All quiet last night. Didn't want to wake you when I stepped out. Seemed like you needed the sleep. Will be back tonight. - Raphael'_

  
Bernadetta clutches the sticky note to her chest, biting back a smile. _He kept me safe last night._

* * *

  
_'Make sure you're getting enough sleep, Raph!'_

  
The screen on his ancient flip phone is overrun with cracks, but he can still see the text message from his sister clearly. Raphael smiles, and begins the arduous process of tapping back a response on the phone's tiny keys. His sister, Maya, always worries about him. He knows it's not exactly _healthy_ to work through the night and sleep during the day, but at Valentine's, the night shift pays a lot more. 

  
Raphael pops a recommended dose of Vitamin D into his mouth and swallows it down with a gulp of water. As he enters the building, he waves at the person posted at the security desk. They nod when they catch his badge. He takes the elevator up to the top floor, where Bernadetta lives.

  
Raphael has a tendency to arrive early for his shifts. It's better than arriving late like Balthus does and having a client complain or report the infraction. Raphael is a top-rated bodyguard at his job for a reason, and that reason is that he cannot afford to be out of work, not even for a single moment.

  
The elevator door chimes his arrival and the doors slide open soundlessly. Raphael steps out of the elevator, angling to find a spot to post up in the hallway to wait out the next thirty minutes. He doesn't want to be unreasonably early. 

  
_Why does it smell so good in here?_

  
Raphael jerks his attention from his phone and looks about, but the hallway is completely empty. His nose points him the direction of Bernadetta's door. He checks his watch again. It's still early, too early, for him to tell her he's here.

  
_Damn, that smells so good though. I wonder if she's a famous chef or something._

  
Raphael hits the intercom door bell before he knows what he's doing.

* * *

  
Bernadetta blinks in surprise, her eyes flying to the clock on the wall. _Isn't it a little early?_ She sets the jar of chili powder down on her countertop. For a moment, she wonders if she misheard the bell. She shakes her head, patting her hands down on the apron. I guess I could always go check.

  
Bernadetta hops out of the kitchen, crossing the living room to the front door. She peers at the intercom screen with some trepidation, then relaxes. _Oh, it's Raphael!_

  
"H-hi," she greets him nervously when the door opens between them. 

  
Raphael's jaw goes slack for a moment, before he snaps it shut. "Hi." A pause. "Sorry, I'm a little early. Would you like me wait?"

  
"W-wait? Out here?" she replies, wondering who on earth would agree to such a thing.

  
He nods.

  
"No, please, c-come in," she insists. When he steps inside, she gestures to the couch. "I'm, um, in the middle of cooking right now, but you could...sit down?"

  
"I don't mind standing," he replies quickly.'

  
"You don't have to...do that," Bernadetta responds, eyebrows creasing in concern. She knows he must care a lot about his job, but he's not even on the clock right now and he won't be for quite some time.

  
"Are you...sure?" Raphael asks, eyebrow raised.

  
"Yeah, I'm sure. Please, make yourself comfortable. I really don't, um, mind at all."

  
Raphael stares at her for a beat, before gingerly seating his enormous self onto her couch. 

  
She skirts back toward the kitchen, pulling out her phone to help with siphoning off some of her nervous energy. _Gah, is it always going to be this awkward?_ Without premable, Bernadetta sends Dorothea a crying face emoji and slips the phone back into her pocket. She turns on the sink and begins soaping up her hands.

  
When she turns around to towel them off, she notices Raphael watching her raptly. She immediately fumbles the towel and it flutters to the floor. Bernadetta feels her cheeks heat in embarrassment. _Bernie, you brainless klutz!_

  
"Here, I got it," Raphael calls to her, crossing the living room it a few short steps. 

  
She freezes in place, shocked to find him at her feet so quickly. He sweeps the towel off the floor and hands it to her, smiling.

  
"Um, thank you," she mumbles, hands twisting into the towel. "I should...probably grab a fresh one."

  
"Where are they? I can grab it for you, if you'd like."

  
Bernadetta stares at him speechlessly. She isn't used to someone being so helpful to her. When she points him in the direction of the linen closet, he brings back a fresh towel in no time. 

  
"Do you mind if I ask what you're making?" he blurts suddenly.

  
"O-oh. Um, it's...it's a spiced pork cutlet. I got the recipe from my friend Petra. I thought...um, maybe we could try it together for dinner?"

  
Raphael stares at her as if she's sprouted two heads. 

  
_Nooooo, that was weird, Bernie! That was too weird! He definitely thinks you're too weird now!_

  
"Seriously?" Raphael exclaims in a booming voice. "That'd be amazing! It already smells delicious! Can I help with anything?" To her utter surprise, he shrugs off his security jacket, and begins to roll up his shirt sleeves. "I know I don't look it, but I'm pretty handy in the kitchen. I used to cook for my sister and grandparents all the time."

  
Bernadetta is too busy gawking at Raphael's otherworldly build to register the words. As an occasional artist, Bernadetta has only ever dreamt of seeing such a body in real life. Raphael has the body of an overpowered main character, the kind that belongs in superhero movies. 

  
"Bernadetta?"

  
"W-what?" she yelps. "S-sorry, I was...I was distracted."

  
He blinks at her. "Can I help with anything?"

  
She stares at the way his shirt clings to his biceps and swallows thickly. "Of...of course."

* * *

  
Bernadetta barely survives cooking with Raphael in the kitchen. Mostly due to her own nerves. She wonders if, when people look at him, they expect him to be a walking culinary disaster. In fact, he's quite the opposite. He knows his way around food. While she prepares the dry rub and side dishes, Raphael handles meat preparation and cooks the pork cutlets to perfection. 

  
When they both sit down to eat, Bernadetta swears it tastes almost as good at Petra makes it. She stares wide-eyed at Raphael, a shaky laugh bubbling past her lips. She cannot believe it tastes this good. Raphael returns her laugh and then lifts a large hand. She shakily returns his high-five.

  
She feels silly. Happy and silly and surprisingly at home.

  
Before Bernadetta can take another bite, her phone starts to ring. Her fork clatters to the plate. Dorothea is video calling her. Bernadetta shoots up from her seat, mouth dropping open like a fish out of water.  
She stares at Raphael. She feels like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't be.

  
Raphael stares back, a bushy blonde eyebrow raised. "Need some privacy?" He quickly gets up, but Bernadetta waves him down. 

  
"N-no, it's okay! I'll take this upstairs!" She claps the phone to her chest and starts taking the stairs two at a time. "D-don't wait up for me!" she calls over her shoulder. Bernadetta skids into her bedroom, slams the door shut, and finally hits the button to accept the call.

  
Dorothea's grimace appears on screen. "Bern, darling, what took you so long to pick up? I was worried sick." Her gaze skims over Bernadetta's shoulders, trying to make sense of the background. "Is everything okay? You sent me a very cryptic emoji and then just stopped answering."

  
Bernadetta pops open their latest conversation and is reminded of the crying emoji face she sent her best friend, followed by unanswered texts from Dorothea asking for clarification.

  
"Oh!" Bernadetta inhales sharply. "My bad, Dorothea. I didn't see your replies until now. Um, I was cooking."

  
"Oh, what'd you make?" Dorothea squeals. "Can I have some?"

  
Bernadetta brightens. "Petra sent me her pork cutlet recipe! It actually came out really well!"

  
"Show me!" Dorothea wheedles her playfully. A pause. "Wait, why are you in your bedroom? I thought you said you were cooking?"

  
Bernadetta feels the back of her neck burning. Nothing gets past her best friend.

  
"Bernie!" Dorothea gasps. "Are you hiding someone downstairs?"

  
"NO!" Bernie shrieks. 

  
Dorothea's shakes the phone in her grasp wildly. "Bernadetta von Varley, do you have a _man_ over?"

  
"No, no! It's not like that!" Bernadetta blubbers pathetically, yanking at the ends of her hair. 

  
"Your face is red, Bernie!"

  
There's a knock on her bedroom door, and Bernadetta jerks her head up to it. The sound of Raphael's voice, strained with worry, makes it through the wood. "Bernadetta, is everything okay? I heard screaming."

  
"Who was that?" Dorothea demands, her gleaming green eyes going round with smoldering curiosity.

  
"Bernadetta?" Raphael repeats through the door.

  
Bernadetta wishes the floor would open up and simply swallow her. She smothers her phone against her thigh for a moment. Dorothea's voice filters out of the phone and into the fabric of her pants, demanding answers. 

  
"I'm f-fine!" Bernadetta stammers back at Raphael. "Everything is fine!" She holds her breath, waiting for his response. She hopes she sounds sufficiently not in danger to convince him. After a moment, she hears Raphael trek back down the stairs. She releases a sigh of relief, and brings the phone back to her face. 

  
Dorothea cocks an elegantly-tweezed eyebrow at her. "Well?"

  
"That was j-just my bodyguard," Bernadetta explains, pressing her lips together anxiously.

  
Dorothea blinks her long, gorgeous eyelashes at her. "Right..." she says, slowly, with relish. 

  
"What?" Bernadetta squeaks, not liking the way her friend is teasing her.

  
"So, you just so happened to be cooking dinner with your bodyguard," Dorothea responds lightly.

  
"Y-ye--no! No! It's not like that. He showed up early while I was preparing dinner and, well, h-he offered to help me and I--"

  
Dorothea breaks into a sonorous laugh. "I'm just teasing you, Bern!" There is a twinkle in her eye, however, that does not seem like mere teasing.

  
"He's nice to me! I...I just..."

  
Dorothea cradles her chin in her hand, smiling at her fondly. "Darling, that makes me happy to hear. You deserve nice people in your life. Go on and finish your dinner date."

  
Bernadetta feels the flush reach the tip of her ears. "It's nothing like that."

  
Dorothea eventually shoos her off the phone to eat.

  
When the call ends, Bernadetta slumps into her bed, releasing a huge sigh.

  
_It's nothing like that._

  
_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I want to add ALL the possible romantic tropes in this fic? YES.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated and incredibly motivational! Thank you for reading.


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